Being Kellyanne Conway

“Good morning, honey,” my husband said when we woke up. “How about a little action this morning?”

“We had sex last night,” I said, getting out of bed and dressing myself in an old pink bathrobe and slapping a post it on my chest reading “This is actually an expensively tailored suit.”

My husband rubbed his eyes. “I think I would have remembered that,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” I pointed vaguely to the window side of the bed. “We did it right over there. Anyway, I’ll see you at around six.” I added that I would pick up a chicken and make a salad.

The kids were sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to get breakfast for them.  

“If you’re hungry you should go to the kitchen,” I said.

They looked at each other. “We’re in the kitchen,” they said.

I spoke sharply. “This is not the kitchen,” I said. “This is the basement. Go downstairs to the kitchen and I’ll get your breakfast.”

They looked at each other for a minute and then dutifully went downstairs. I lay down on the couch and took a short nap until I heard both of them calling me. I went downstairs and informed them they’d wasted the morning by hiding in the basement and they had to go get dressed now. I’d give them something to take with them. As they headed out the door I handed them each an empty bag, calling out, “Fresh made blueberry muffins!”

On the way to work I was stopped at a light when the guy in front of me suddenly jumped out of his car and came barreling over to me. “You just rear ended me!” he shouted.

Indeed the back of his car was heavily dented. Mine was scratched up, and I had some recall of driving way over the speed limit and then abruptly being stopped, as if by another large object, such as his car. But this was absurd. “Sir, I would think very carefully before running around making accusations like that,” I said icily. As he stood there fuming I backed up and drove around him, calling out the window, “Just because your car was rear ended moments ago and I was the last person driving behind you doesn’t mean it was me, moron!”

In the parking garage, Mitch, who is also from outside sales, parked right next to me. “Good morning, Denise,” he said.

 I smiled as politely as I could. “My name is actually Margo,” I said.

Mitch’s face fell. “I’ve been working with you for five years,” he said. “I know your name is Denise.” He opened up his calendar. “I even have it written here:  “11 a.m. – Talk to Denise about the Riley account.”

I put my hand on his arm. “Mitch, I have no idea who Denise is, but, anyway, I am Margo, and if you keep insisting my name is Denise, I am going to be forced to tell Gina how in fact last week, during our meeting with Riley, you stood up, removed your shirt, leapt onto the conference table and began shouting obscenities.” I cocked my head to one side. “So what’s it going to be, Mitch?”

“But…but that didn’t happen!” Mitch sputtered.

“Oh really?” I said cooly. “I have a film of it right here.” I took out my phone and showed him.

“I can’t even tell what that – it’s so grainy. Is that the gorilla at the zoo? Why are you wearing a bathrobe? What’s wrong with you, Denise?”

“I see you have made your choice,” I said.

I stood outside my office and shook my head sympathetically as Mitch, along with his belongings, was lead out of the building. It wasn’t even ten thirty yet, and I had just gotten all of Mitch’s clients, which was a huge win for me, and a long time coming, I assure you. So I decided to reward myself with a little me time. I got a mani-pedi, and then I went to see A Dog’s Purpose again. When I got back to the office Gina wanted to know where I’d been.  I laughed. “I’ve been sitting at my desk all day, Gina!”

Now it was Gina’s turn to laugh. “Gosh, I must be going crazy!” she said. “By the way – great suit.”

I went down the street to an upscale bar and got a bottle of Dom Perignon, which I drank all by myself. When the waiter brought the bill, I informed him I already paid it and left. On the way home, I was pulled over and forced to take a Breathalyzer test. They took me into the station, but my lawyer showed up. Once he’d pointed out to the cops that “hey, how could my client blow a 1.2 when it is patently obvious she doesn’t even have a mouth,” they were forced to let me go.

Back at home, my husband was on the couch. “It’s 11:30,” he said. “You were supposed to be here at six, with dinner.” I rolled my eyes at him. “You too?” I said. “First of all, I never said that. Second of all, when is everyone going to stop lying to me?”